Lost Cause Monica
by Anna Greenway
Summary: What if Monica's a fainter?


_Midnight in a Dingy Motel Room..._

She's wearing a cheeky smile that would win over half the men I've ever known, and an FBI windbreaker that would scare the shit out of the remainder. But when I see the damp washcloth she's turning over in her hands, I know I'm in trouble.

"You fainted, Agent Reyes."

And it comes back to me. A foot chase in the night behind our motel, the ground wet from recent rain, our feet splashing through puddles while our hands held guns and our mouths shouted hatred. I was amongst a swarm, moving in for the kill, when three days worth of stress and insomnia moved in on me and my stomach turned in knots that not even the Scouts would recognise. And then -

"You landed in a puddle," Dana says. She still smiles as she raises the cloth to my face, gently wiping off some of the mud as I lie flat on the bed. As she does this I glance down and see that my entire body is dripping water and covered in mud. The FBI jacket I'm wearing is ruined.

"Are you sure it wasn't a swamp?" I ask, cringing at the sight. But even as I do I close my eyes again as a wave of dizziness clouds me.

"Take it easy."

I try to catch my breath as she cleans my face, even wiping some of the mud out of the ends of my hair. It is already like hardened glue and I feel her tugging at the strands.

"How did I get here?" I ask. I remember nothing and immediately wonder how long I've been unconscious.

"You were carried."

She pulls back a little and folds up the washcloth. Then she smiles again and I wonder again what it is that's amusing her so much.

"Carried by who?"

She gets up and walks to the bathroom. I hear the water running as she rinses the cloth and her muffled voice as it comes around the corner. "By one of the hundred men who offered."

I stare, and she appears in the doorway, grinning. "Being female does occasionally have its advantages."

My mind conjures up a scene of a whole task force pulling me out of a puddle, thick hands grabbing at my limbs, gripping my body. My gun lies on the ground, but they don't pick it up. They're too busy picking me up. I sigh, disgusted.

She approaches the bed again and sits down beside me. She looks at me with understanding eyes and my worry eases. "It's OK. It was mainly John."

Relief flows through me, and I look back to her eyes, checking for any sign of a lie. But the eyes that were smiling a few seconds ago are now studying me. I know something is wrong.

"Dana?" I ask, reaching out automatically for her hand. She lets me take it and squeezes my fingers.

"It's a good thing he was close, Monica." My mind registers her use of my first name. "You could've drowned. Your face was underwater. Luckily he grabbed you in time and we managed to get you out of danger, of both the puddle and the killer."

She shakes her head, and I sense exactly how close it was. Suddenly I don't mind that I'm covered in mud, and the image of myself in the puddle changes so that it's John who hurries toward me and picks me up, his strong arms slipping on my wet clothes, struggling to get a grip. And then Dana appears, jogging over through the wet, kneeling beside me. They pull me out, checking my vitals, eyes searching for an injury to explain my fall. I smile to myself, now knowing it was John who carried me to my motel room, and who no doubt gently put me on the bed before telling Dana to stay with me, and running out to rejoin the chase.

I feel Dana squeeze my hand again. "Can I offer a word of advice?"

"What is it?" I ask, still smiling.

Her face splits into a grin. She's almost laughing. The ends of her flaming red hair dance with amusement and I know I'm about to discover what has been so amusing in my near death experience.

"You may want to lose that look of lovesickness before he returns."

"Lovesick?" I ask.

She leans in a little, struggles to suppress her grin. "Hopelessly."

There is a sharp knock at the door, and we both jump. She lets go of my hand and walks over, but pauses with her hand on the knob. "Try embarrassment."

I can't help grinning at her, and she laughs, somehow rolling her eyes at the same time.

"You're a lost cause, Monica."

And she opens the door.


End file.
